


death of a seaman

by badAquatic, orphan_account



Series: Trailerstuck [27]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Brotherhood, Friendship, Gen, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:51:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badAquatic/pseuds/badAquatic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which everyone in the trailerpark shows up to pay their respects (or lack thereof) to the Orphaner. Takes place immediately after "unseen corners".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. reunion

**== >Karkat: Be furious with your brother**

You try to be furious with him. You give Eridan the pissed-off death glare and that seems to do the trick. The seatroll shuffles away from you, eyes to the ground as you enter the Captor mobilehive. You drag Sollux to his room and place him on the messy daybed. Then you return to the living room, still glaring at Eridan, who won’t meet your eye.

A minute later, you give up and hug him tightly. You don’t have your grandfather’s fierce anger to stay upset for too long.

“Where have you been?” you whisper.

“I… it’s been rough…” Eridan admits. You can’t remember if you’ve ever hugged him before. Eventually, he awkwardly hugs you back.

“You should have talked to me at least, you ass!” you growl, “I was worried about you!”

Eridan rolls his eyes, “Tell that to my bruised jaw, Kar.”

Oh yeah; you socked him in the jaw, but the asshole started it by calling you a peasantblood. “We both said a lot of shit we didn’t really mean.”

“If you say so.” Eridan says, but still looks skeptical.

“And we’re _brothers_.” you insist (despite knowing the truth about Eridan’s parentage). “Brothers have to stick together.”

“We never stuck together for _anything_ before.” Eridan points out.

“No time like the present. And do you want to be like our grandparents who hated each other? Dualscar probably still hates my grandpa, right?”

“Hated.” Eridan says in a small, tight voice. The look in his eyes are pained, “He… has most likely… passed on.”

“Oh.” is all you can say because the last time you talked to Eridan, you told him how much you hated Dualscar and honestly? You still hate the bastard and hope he rots in the worst pit of Hell.

Eridan seems different overall; his face more gaunt and the bags under his eyes more prominent. The seatroll flops down on the couch like he’s given up standing. You remember your exchange with Sollux just a few hours ago in Darkleer Manor; that Eridan and him had an ‘accident’.

“When was the last time you slept or ate?” you ask.

He wipes his eyes. “I just woke up, Kar, and I ate… this morning.”

“Eridan, it’s almost midnight and you haven’t eaten anything _all_ _day_?”

“I wasn’t hungry so I figured I was fine.”

“Oh my _gods_ , Eridan. What are you trying to do; turn into a fucking super model?” you groan and go to the kitchen.

“What are you doing now?”

“Making you a sandwich.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’re eating a damn sandwich, Eridan; no arguments!”

You more or less bully Eridan into eating a roast beef sandwich. He glares at you the entire time for forcing nutrition on him.

You don’t let up once he’s eating trough. “What in the shit have you been eating? You look like those South Bojangles kids in those Feed-The-Children commercials.”

“Parts of South Bojangles are very modernized…” he mutters.

_“Eridan.”_

“I ain’t exactly been flushed with cash.” Eridan sighs, “Fresh veggies cost you an arm and a leg, so I scrimped—”

“I’ve been to the supermarket. Tell me what you’re eating.”

“Ramen mostly; sometimes I’ll buy an egg if it’s on sale.” 

“Ramen? You’ve been eating fucking _ramen?_ For how long?”

“Uh, maybe… three months straight?”

“How are your teeth still in your head? How has your heart not exploded from the sodium? How are you not _dead?_ ” Now you’re scrutinizing Eridan’s face for malnourishment. He’s wearing baggy Trollzformers pajamas but those belong to Sollux you guess. Shit, if Sollux’s stuff is baggy on _Eridan_ he must be in trouble. “How could you stand to eat fucking _ramen_ for that long?”

Eridan glares at you, “I didn’t just eat that. I do all my shopping at the dollar stores; you can make a good meal off of rice, some canned salmon or octopus. Canned food is the best; the frozen stuff is a rip off.”

“Eridan, no one should have to do their grocery shopping at a fucking _Dollar Store._ ”

“It’s all I can afford…”

“Why can’t you get state aid?”

Eridan frowns. “What? You think I’m gonna accept handouts from the apes? Anyways, I was doing fine.”

Seadweller pride is the reason; you should have fucking expected. That sort of attitude is only compatible if you’re a fuel lord out in the sticks with thousand acre biomass factories or solar plants. Instead of grabbing Eridan by his wonky horns and shoving his nose in the current state of his ‘nobility’, you say, “If you were doing so ‘fine’, what’re you doing here?”

“I…” Eridan’s eyebrows knot in the way you know he’s concocting an extraordinary lie, like when he tried to pass himself off as a powerful wizard during middle school. You wait for the lie but it never comes. He says in a low voice, “…I can’t go back home.”

“Why not? What happened?” Eridan doesn’t meet your eye. Immediately you fear for the worse, “Did Dualscar… _touch_ you?”

Eridan looks at you, scandalized. “What? No. Kar. _Gods_ _no_!” Blood floods his cheeks as he mutters, “Kar, the _very idea_ of grandpa doing something like that…”

“Is totally plausible because let’s be honest here: this is the same guy who thinks my hemotype is everyone’s cum dumpster.”

“He was an old man, Kar,” Eridan growls, “He was set in a… a _lot_ of ways, and it ain’t good of you to talk ill of… of those who may have passed on so I’ll ask you not to keep yammering on about him like that, alright?”

“Fine.” You agree, because you’re sure there’s plenty of skeletons in your own grandfather’s closet.

You’re both silent after that. You clean off Eridan’s plate and make yourself a sandwich since you’re starving. Eridan watches The Real Housemates of Lemon County while you eat.

While a human woman and male troll couple argue, you say, “How do you know he’s dead? Did you…”

“Mom said she’d… do it.” Eridan admits.

“Mom?” You never thought Cronus had it in him to kill Dualscar but you can’t see anyone else doing the task. Eridan would freak the fuck out if he had to. “Did he inform the state about it…?”

Eridan looks at you, puzzled, “The state?”

“Uh yeah. Haven’t you ever heard of proof of cause of death? Or confirmation of death?” Eridan continues staring. “It means that if Dualscar dies, the government will want _proof of the cause of death_ to see if he wasn’t, y’know, _murdered._ ” The staring continues, “Like a _crime,_ Eridan.”

“Culling ain’t murder.”

“In the _modern_ _world_ it is, dumbass. In the UTC they want your birth and death certificates on file so people can’t use your name for tax fraud. Have you never watched a cop show?”

“I thought you only watched shitty romance shows all day?”

“I have other interests outside of romcoms. I watch all the crime dramas, like Psych, Twin Peaks, Burn Notice, Breaking Bad, Sherlock…” You actually watch those shows because you love hearing about the relationships and seeing them develop. “My point is, Mom could end up in a lot of legal trouble if the government figures out what happened to Dualscar. Isn’t your mobilehive in his name?”

“Uh...”

You sigh, “You have no idea do you…?”

Eridan shakes his head. “I just paid the bills, Kar; I don’t know any of the legal stuff.”

“But you’re under eighteen. You’re not allowed to rent anything that isn’t government housing. _How_ were you paying bills?”

Eridan shrugs. “I’d go to Dairy Mart, or the Walmart and get a money order. Then I’d mail it or just drop it off at the trailerpark office.”

Well… that makes sense. It’s a rite of passage in the Ninth Ward to deliver the rent check. It’s a sign you’re mature enough to be trusted with money. It goes hand in hand with riding the bus alone, walking to Park Avenue unescorted, your first purchase with allowance money, your first game with neighboring children, and so on.

Eridan doesn’t look happy about the revelation, like he’s not sure if he should be relieved that Dualscar is out of pain or that Cronus might be arrested for murder.

You say, “…I’m sure Mom has a plan. He’s not really an act-first-think-later troll.”

Eridan’s response is to start gagging. He scrambles off the couch and hurries to the bathroom. The retching noise sounds painful, to the point where _your_ abdominal muscles start cramping. You walk to the bathroom to help but he’s already done and wiping his mouth.

“Sorry…”

Eridan shakes his head. “Don’t be. It’s been happening all day. Let’s just… shut up and watch TV.”

You end up nodding off to one of the four Harry Potter movie remakes (Chamber of Secrets) and wake up during Halfblood Prince. Sollux is standing next to you holding two mugs of cocoa. He offers you the other and you gulp it down. Eridan’s asleep, leaning on you and most likely dreaming about Draco Malfoy.

“Good cocoa.” you say.

“Brewed it in the machine we got.” Sollux nods to Eridan, “You guys talk?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it awkward?”

“Incredibly.” You stand. “I should head home. Dave’s probably wondering where I am.”

“Did you tell him you were ghost hunting?”

“Yeah, and to keep it a secret but what does he care? He’s human.” You shrug. “Are you going to be okay? Eridan threw up…”

“He’s been doing that a lot. Pregnancy isn’t easy on a seadweller’s body.” Sollux mutters. “He’s still underweight too.” 

“What are you going to do with the egg?”

Sollux frowns, “We’re not keeping it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Two simple words and the awkwardness in the room has ramped up. You decide to leave. You tell Sollux to call you if he needs anything, though you know he doesn’t. Compared to most of the people in your class, the yellowblood is going to be well off. He’s won enough coding contests to make a name for himself. Come senior year, technical schools are going to toss applications at him.

Your grades are mediocre just like everyone else’s. You’ll probably be dumped into the menial labor force like most trolls rather than waste money fumbling through college.

You return to the Strider mobilehive, which seems larger and quieter without Jake and Dirk. How often were they gone while Dave was young? You wouldn’t be surprised if it was a lot; it’s a miracle if you’re _not_ a latchkey kid in the Ninth Ward. It’s different for humans though. NJC social services are a bit more lenient about troll latchkey kids because trolls are just as functional when left alone. After all, your species used to eat their own young and let animals take care of their offspring.

When you enter the bedroom, Dave is asleep with headphones in his ear. He must have been restless since he only does that when he has trouble sleeping. You cuddle next to him and smell the coffee and milk scents he’s absorbed from his job. It’s not a bad smell to fall asleep to.

 


	2. housetrapped

**== >Be Eridan the next day**

New Jack City is well known for two things: its melting pot of international cuisine, its hot, humid summers and mild winters. Six days into June and the heat is oppressive. Ice cream trucks won’t run in this neighborhood until close to dusk. Children and kits know better than to run around in the heat, even for ice cream.

May is heated, June is hot and after Mirth Gras it’s boiling, July is rainy after Founder’s Day, and August is a wheezing and snarling mess of storms and thunder until St. Capricornus’s Day.

You’re not even sure if you’re going to Mirth Gras this year. Its too hot to think about the future. You’re laying on Sollux’s couch with two fans concentrated on you, Mituna lying on the floor next to you. It’s even too hot to bicker.

“Eridan.” Sollux says.

You groan and roll over, eyes squeezed shut.

“Eridan, come on.” Sollux sits you up. “Come on. You need to drink more water.”

“I’m fine. Just let me lay here…”

Sollux eventually gets you to sit up and chug down a tall glass of salted water. He sits next to you. “Don’t drink too fast or you’ll throw it up again.”

“I’m fine, _mother_.” you growl, “I thought you were working?”

“You can only code for so long before your fingers need a break.” Sollux pushes the AR glasses off of his face. “Hey, when are you going to go home?”

“You kicking me out already?”

“No, but you need clothes, your husktop, your books, and whatever else. Isn’t that all at your place?”

“Yeah… but… I don’t really _need_ it…” You shrug, “I still have my palmhusk.”

“That thing’s older than my parents. My glasses hold more data than it does.”

“It’s worked fine so far.”

“Why don’t you want to go home? You could organize things a bit since Dualscar’s… well…”

“Kicked the already rusted bucket?” Mituna snorts.

“Shut up!” you growl, “Like you even remember who that is!”

Mituna sits up and behind his fluffed out hair, you can see a dark yellow eye glaring at you. “I remember him being a fucking asshole. You’re just lucky he didn’t use you as a bucket like he did to everybody else.”

“ _Shut the fuck up!”_

You move to throw your cup at Mituna’s head but Sollux grabs your arm. He sighs, “Mit, go pester Mom. Eridan and me are have to talk.”

“It’s true! Just ask anybody! Ask Kankri!” Mituna stands up, walking to his bedroom.

Sollux only lets go of your arm when Mituna shuts the door. You glare at him, “You said he was retarded but he seems plenty coherent to me.”

“I never said ‘retarded’. I said mentally handicapped.” Sollux replies, “Mituna isn’t allowed to live alone and he can’t take care of himself but he’s not some goofy little kid. He acts like a teenager, sassy mouth and hormones included. Right now he’s probably trying to have sex with Mom.”

“Gross.”

“Well, it’s the only way to distract him when you get him all riled up.” Sollux sighs, “Eridan, why don’t you ask your parents?”

You shake your head, “Kankri won’t go near grandpa’s trailer.”

You haven’t talked to Cronus since your last conversation concerning your egg. You've been too nervous to do so. You’re afraid he’ll figure out what’s you’re going to do. Giving it away is the best option. You thought about asking Damara if she has any clue as to where the sold eggs go but you’re afraid to ask. 

“What about Karkat? It’s his grandfather too.”

“I don’t know.” You search around the couch and locate your palmhusk wedged between two nearly-flat pillows. “It couldn’t hurt to ask him.”

Karkat might have also spoken to Cronus for you and give you any updates on family matters as well.

 

\--caligulasAquarium[CA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist[CG]!--

 

CA: hey kar

CG: DID YOU KNOW THAT THE ORIGINAL MONIKER FOR TROLLICHUM WAS “TROLLS AND CHUMS” AND WAS DESIGNED AS SOFTWARE TO PROMOTE INTERSPECIES INTERACTION IN NEO JAPAN DUE TO THE RISING TROLL POPULATION AND THE DECLINING HUMAN ONE?

CA: uh no kar

CA: i did not knoww that

CA: is that gonna be on the test

CG: I’M LOOKING UP RANDOM SHIT ON WIKIPEDIA INSTEAD OF FACING MY JOB SITUATION AND MY SHITTY FUTURE.

CA: i knoww that feelin but it cant be all that bad

CA: wwere not purplebloods

CG: AREN’T YOU TECHNICALLY PURPLE?

CA: im vviolet not purple and at least you didnt drop out

CG: YOU CAN ALWAYS GO BACK TO SCHOOL, ERIDAN.

CA: i dont wwant to

CA: i hated that place and evveryone in it

CA: if i had to spend another minute there i wwas gonna stab somebody i couldnt take it

CG: you had friends and people wwho at least tolerated you

CA: all i had wwas fef but she had her owwn life

CG: YOU AND KANAYA HUNG OUT IN THE DRAMA CLUB THOUGH.

CA: for like all of a wweek because kanaya cant stand me and if this was alternia shed drain my blood to feed her rainbowwdrinkin grubs

CG: HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING TERRIBLE RAINBOWDRINKER MOVIES ON THE SYFY CHANNEL ALL DAY AGAIN?

CA: not *all* day

CG: THAT SHITTY WRITING ROTS YOUR BRAIN.

CA: says the romcom lovver but listen thats not wwhy i messaged you

CA: uh wwill you come wwith me to grandpas trailer

CG: WHY DO YOU NEED ME TO GO?

CA: yeah i knoww but im sorta

CA: scared cause the last time i saww grandpa he wwas in the bathtub like

CA: fuckin dyin

CA: and im sorta uneasy about goin there by myself

CG: ARE YOU SCARED OF GHOSTS OR SOME SHIT?

CA: wwell im an alternian traditionalist so of course im wwary of residual essence imprints in a room wwhere someones been sick or dyin

CG: EVERYTHING AFTER “I’M SCARED OF” WAS MOONSPEAK TO ME.

CA: are you gonna come with me or not

CG: YEAH I’LL COME WITH YOU. I GOT NOTHING BETTER TO DO BUT LOOK UP SHIT ABOUT ALTERNIAN HISTORY.

CA: I thought you hated history

CG: I DON’T HATE HISTORY. I DON’T MIND LEARNING HISTORY ONCE IT’S WRITTEN FROM AN ACCURATE NEUTRAL PERSPECTIVE.I JUST WISH THE NEWS TOLD THE TRUTH. I’M ON GOOGLE-NEWS RIGHT NOW FOR NEW JACK CITY AND THERE’S NOTHING ABOUT THE NINTH WARD OUTSIDE OF MIRTH GRAS SHIT. IT’S LIKE THE CITY CARES MORE ABOUT TOURISM THAN THE PEOPLE.

CA: uh kar

CG: WHAT THE NEWS IN NEW JACK CITY NEEDS IS SOMEONE WHOS WILLING TO KICK SHIT UP AND DIVE INTO THINGS, LIKE A HUNTER S. THOMPSON OR SOMEONE WHO’S NOT GOING TO REPORT INACCURATE THINGS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE THE FASTEST OR THE FIRST.

CA: kar wwhy dont you go into journalism

CG: WHAT?

CG: I DON’T KNOW. THAT WHOLE SOCIAL JUSTICE BLOGGING STYLE “COMPLAIN ABOUT THE MAN” THING IS REALLY KANKRI’S SCHTICK. MOST OF THE WRITING I DO IS FOR FUN.

CA: wwhat do you wwrite

CG: UH. NOTHING.

CA: oh come on kar its not that big deal

CA: wwriting probably runs in the family

CA: evveryone knows i wwrote horrible fanfiction

CG: THAT’S BECAUSE YOU WERE PROUD OF IT AND SHOWED EVERYONE.

CA: yeah but i wwas still proud at least

CA: wwhats stoppin you exactly

CG: YEAH BUT… IT’S LIKE… SORT OF…

CA: yeah

CG: PORNY…

CA: really?

CG: WELL, I JUST WANTED TO WRITE REGULAR PORN CAUSE I WAS BORED BUT THEN I STARTED WRITING AN ACTUAL STORY WITH CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

CA: wwhats it about?

CG: ITS… EMBARASSING.

CA: kar i pretty much wwrote self-insert harry potter fanfiction and wwas convinced i wwould be the next neil gaiman so wwhat you wwrote cant be all that bad

CG: ITS CALLED ”ATRAMENTOUS LINEAGE” AND ITS ALTERNATE HISTORY ABOUT WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF THE HELMSMAN ATRAMENTOUS NEVER FELL OUT OF POWER AFTER THE COUP. THE STORY FOCUSES ON HIS YOUNG HEIR POLLUX AND HIS CONCUBINE ARKINO AND THERE’S A LOT OF POLITICAL PLOTS FOR POWER AND INTRIGUE. ALSO, A LOT OF SEX BUT RECENTLY THERE’S BEEN LESS FOCUS ON THAT.

CA: it sounds interestin

CA: so are you gonna send it to me or what

CG: …YOU WANT TO READ IT?

CA: wwell yeah i wwant to read it

CG: ALRIGHT BUT IF YOU TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS I’LL DIE OF EMBARASSMENT.

CA: oh clam the fuck dowwn

\--carcinoGeneticist sent the file “Atramentous Lineage 1.rtf v3”—

CA: you have multiple vversions

CG: YEAH. I HAVE A BETA READER.

CA: wwhos that

CG: I DON’T KNOW. I MET THEM ONLINE BUT THEY WRITE PORN TOO.

CG: WHAT TIME ARE WE GOING TO GO EXPLORING YOUR PLACE?

CA: later on today wwhen its cool out

CA: and uh havve you talked to mom yet

CG: YEAH… WE TALKED A BIT. HE JUST GOT BACK FROM BEING OUT IN THE WOODS. PROBABLY AT HIS NEW PLACE BY NOW.

CA: he already moved out?

CG: THAT WHOLE THING WITH GRANDPA HAS HIM SORT OF “OUT OF IT”. IT REMINDS ME OF KANKRI WHEN HE’S SOBER AND JUST TALKING TO HIMSELF: A LOT OF WEIRDNESS AND MOPING BUT AT LEAST HE’S HONEST ABOUT THINGS.

CA: wwhat things

CG: OH UH. MAYBE YOU SHOULD TALK TO HIM ABOUT IT, OR DAD.

CA: kan and i nevver talk

CA: i dont think he likes me at all

CA: evverytime he looks at me he acts all wweird and after a wwhile he just takes off

CG: I DON’T THINK THAT’S YOU. KANKRI HAS MORE OF A PROBLEM WITH DUALSCAR THAN YOU.

CA: wwhat happened

CG: …MAYBE YOU SHOULD TALK TO KANKRI BUT, UH, WAIT A FEW DAYS.

CA: wwhy

CG: LONG STORY...

CG: HOLY SHIT.

CA: what

CG: I ACTUALLY GOT A MESSAGE ABOUT A JOB. I BETTER CHECK THIS OUT.

CA: alright im gonna get ready

CG: I’LL PICK YOU UP AT FIVE OKAY?

CA: kar i can just walk to grandpas

CG: LIKE HELL YOU’RE WALKING AROUND IN YOUR CONDITION, ERIDAN.

 

\--carcinoGeneticist[CG] ceased trolling caligulasAquarium[CA]!--

 

What did he mean by that? You look at Sollux. The yellowblood sits down, having returned from the kitchen with a glass of iced tea.

“Sol,” you growl, “did you tell Karkat I was knocked up?”

Sollux sighs, “Eridan…”

“Oh my fucking _god,_ Sol!” you snarl, “I didn’t want people to know! It’s bad enough your parents found out about it!”

“Eridan, they’re not fucking stupid is why they found out about it.”

“I’m not keeping it,” you grumble, “and I don’t want a bunch of assholes pitying me because I gave it up.”

“He’s your brother, Eridan. What was I supposed to do?” Sollux sighs, “Also, you need to start seeing a doctor if you’re carrying the egg to term.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not gaining any weight, and you’re not holding down your food or really resting.”

“I don’t like laying around all day and having everything handed to me.”

“Yeah, but you nearly set the kitchen on fire yesterday trying to cook with chicken that’d been left out all night with a side of that gross ramen.” Sollux pushes his AR glasses back on his face and stands. “You’ve got the eating habits of a little kid.”

“And you have the eating habits of an asshole nerd.” you grumble, “I bet your kid is gonna have mangled teeth that need industrial-strength braces and be a giant—”

You stop because you’re _not_ going to know what traits your offspring would have. You’re not going to know if they’re going to be a sarcastic asshole or just cynical. You aren’t going to know if they’ll have your fashion sense, if they’ll like computers, wizards, or books. If they’ll be a writing geek or a hacker nerd.

You stand up. “I’m gonna go lay down. Your daybed isn’t cluttered with papers and shit is it?”

“Even if it was you’ll just push them onto the floor.” Sollux sighs.

You’re too drained to even engage in your usual pitch banter. Your abdomen gives a nauseating squirm that you try to ignore.


	3. memories written in mildew

**== >Be Karkat later that day **

 

You can’t remember the last time you went to Dualscar’s mobilehive. Scratch that: you have _never_ beento Dualscar’s mobilehive because your grandfather said Dualscar gobbled kits or did something far worse (the latter only hinted to). After learning _some_ of the Orphaner’s crimes, your grandfather was right to discourage visits.

The ground of Two Boot Drive is thick and rank like spoiled stew. The smell is from the swamps which are thick with DynamiCHEM factory run-off. The state of the Ampora mobilehive’s lawn reflects the road: muddy with tall marshland weeds. The mobilehive colors are fading and one is hemorrhaging orange-red rust. A claw of kudzu snakes its way up the side of the mobilehive, prodding the rust splotches.

While Eridan fiddles with the lock, you wonder if the mobilehive was ever maintained or had begun to reflect its owner: sickly and being invaded by the alien world.  

The inside of the trailer matches the outside, with the only except being its dark inside and you have to squint so you won’t trip. It reeks of brackish water and sour milk. The wall paint is flaking away and the floor dusty and badly needing vacuuming _and_ mopping. Besides the couch are empty cups of NihonUs Ramen and half-empty smoothies. The ants and flies are going to town on the leftovers.

Eridan catches your expression, “It wasn’t always like this. Things have been hectic and I haven’t been here since… grandpa passed on.”

 

You seriously doubt that because it makes too much sense that Dualscar never cleaned. The old tsar and tsarina of Trussia never cooked for themselves, even in their imposed exile (before the violent gunning down). The Archcountess of Shongolia doesn’t do her hair. Why should the Orphaner Dualscar—failed nobility but nobility nonetheless—learn cleaning?

Eridan ignores your skepticism; he makes his way to the kitchen, “I _guess_ a bit of tidying couldn’t hurt.”

The kitchen is worse, with the ugly wallpaper stained with smoke and grease splatter. It stinks of everything that has ever been cooked. You could lick the wall and taste all the meals: freezer burned fish fillets, spoiled poultry, kelp, spicy pickled cabbage, and salt. Salt and negligibly nutritious ramen is the most recent scent you can pick up.

Eridan squeezes past a lopsided table. There’s an abandoned cereal box on it that the ants and moths are swarming over. You go the fridge and it only has questionable looking eggs and off-brand mayo. The cupboard is stocked with ramen and canned octopus.

“Is this all you have?” you ask, “What did Dualscar eat?”

“He couldn’t eat solids toward the end. Just broth; maybe noodles on good days. Sometimes he wouldn’t eat. He didn’t like the helplessness of being old and sick.”

“Most people don’t.”

It’s not a private issue. Everyone gets old. Everyone gets sick. Everyone dies, and most people don’t fear death but the slow, helpless crawl to it.  

“I’m glad though.” Eridan mutters. “Glad he’s not in…”

He starts gagging again and drops the mop, hand going to his stomach.

You grab him before he hits the ground. “Eridan. Eridan, holy shit. Breathe...”  

Eridan gives a whimper, teeth clenched. “I’m fine. Dizzy. I-it’s normal.”

“Do you have food poisoning again?”

Eridan was well known around school for being a hotbed of stomach viruses, especially when it got warm. It was the reason the pregnancy rumor started floating around. Now that you’re in this home, you understand the source of it all.

“…I’m fine… just let me lay down… the room’ll stop spinning if I lay down…”

You drag the seatroll to the couch, brushing off dirt and crumbs as much as you can. Eridan is still heaving with nothing coming up. Sweat dots is face and he emits a low whine, curling into a ball. You contact Sollux.   

 

\--carcinoGeneticist[CG] began trolling twinArmageddons[TA]!—

CG: SOLLUX HOLY SHIT. I’M TRYING TO STAY CALM BUT ERIDAN’S NOT DOING SO HOT. I THINK HE’S GETTING REALLY SICK.

TA: 2hiit. what’2 wrong now?

CG: HE’S HEAVING BUT NOTHING’S COMING UP.

CG: UH WAIT. SOMETHING’S COMING UP BUT ITS BILE AND OH GOD

CG: OH GOD ITS BLOOD.

TA: what?! how much blood?!

CG: I DON’T KNOW IT’S IN THE BILE AND OH GOD SOLLUX WHAT IF HE DIES WHAT IF HE DIES OH GOD I AM NOT GOOD WITH BLOOD WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

TA: kk, calm the 2hiit down and call 911.

CG: OKAY OKAY I AM

 

You’re still panicking when you dial 911, babbling to the operator Eridan vomits blood and bile. They take a while to arrive and the ride in the ambulance is hectic. The hospital is crowded with people; you can’t tell who’s homeless, who’s here just to get pills, and who’s actually sick. Eridan gets taken in right away since he can’t stop vomiting. You stay close to him, too paranoid to leave him alone and still too afraid to look when they start drawing blood.

Eight hours of chaos later, Sollux and you are in the curtained-off patient area of the emergency room. Eridan lies in bed with an IV plugged into his arm, mildly delirious. The vomiting stopped two hours ago.

“It’s dehydration and food poisoning.” the rustblood doctor says. “What has he been eating and drinking?”

“Soup and chicken mostly. He seems to have trouble holding down anything else.” Sollux says, “He drinks a lot of soda. I try to get him to drink more water but he’s a stubborn ass.”

“He’s also too underweight for the pregnancy.” the rustblood sighs, “He needs to stay hydrated and eat plenty of nutritious well cooked food to combat the malnourishment. It’s already difficult for his hemotype to reproduce.”

“Why is it so difficult?” you ask.

“Certain hemotypes have what you would call ‘blockers’ to reproduction, junk DNA that prevented accidental pregnancies back in the Mother Grub era. Basically, it programs the body to treat any pregnancy as a parasitical infection and destroy it, along with doing harm to host to prevent said ‘accidents’. Seatrolls were probably the first to be experimented on with this gene, among other things, thus the difficulty. Many seatrolls still have trouble with spontaneous miscarriages because of the ‘blocker’ but you”—he look briefly at the chart—“have mutantblood parentage, which gives you an advantage over most seatrolls. Coupled with the fact that the troll body has essentially forgotten how to provide nutrition for two things because of the Mother Grub, and you have a very tough time with biological reproduction.”

“So,” you say, “the mutantblood gene trumps the ‘blocker’?”

“Mutantblood genes seem able to unravel such artificially imposed junk DNA, thus why coldblood with mutantblood ancestry have a higher survival rate.”  

“So why was he vomiting blood? Was it the ‘blocker’?” Sollux asks.

The rustblood shakes his head, “No, that’s dehydration. The blood was from the nasal canals. He needs plenty of bed rest, no sexual intercourse, and no stress.  He should also start seeing a physician.” 

An hour later and past midnight, Eridan gets dismissed from the hospital. You refuse to let him stand so he gets wheeled around while Sollux signs a check to settle to the bill.

 

The yellowblood sighs, “You’re lucky I didn’t tell your Mom about this shit.”

Eridan is wrapped up in a blanket. “More like it’s only a matter of time before he finds out with how gossipy everyone is here.”

“Sollux, how are you paying for this?” you ask.

“I work for a reason, KK.” Sollux says, watching the assistant take the check.

They don’t let you leave until the check clears though. On the lobby wallscreens, ads play about pharm and calorie companies willing to sign off on medical debt if people worked for them. You know better though; those debt-programs shipped you to a remote arcology where you grew mass-produced cabbages for the next fifty years.

As soon as you get back to the Captor trailer, Eridan gets a pill shoved down his throat and passes out. You and Sollux sit in the living room and watch afternoon reruns of old sitcoms like We Love Monsters! and Those Obnoxious Aliens.

“So how long are you going to stay here hovering over Eridan?” Sollux asks.

“I’m allowed to see how my brother is doing.”

“You didn’t really care until like _now._ ”

“Yeah, I couldn’t stand the little shit before but I had a change of heart.”

Sollux rolls his mutated eyes, “Oh, what suddenly brought on this act of good will? Are you going to start wearing a skirt and insisting that people sleep with you so that you can properly praise your god?”

“Shut up, and are you seriously going through with this?”

“With what?” 

“Eridan giving up the egg.”

“Its Eridan’s choice.”

“Come off it, _Tholluckth._ I could tell you were unhappy with giving it away even if we spoke another language and I was fifty feet away. I know you could take care of a kid but what about Eridan? He can barely take care of himself.”

“He took care of Dualscar, and if you ask me, Dualscar’s a lot worse than a grub. Eridan doesn’t see it that way though.”

“Because Dualscar was a shitty parent and a shitty person who treated Eridan like a live-in maid?” Sollux stares at you and you add, “Have you even _been_ over to his mobilehive yet?”

“No,” Sollux grumbles, folding his arm, “but I’m going to.”

“So what _have_ you been doing all day then instead of coming with us?”

“Talking to Horuss and Cronus about legal shit now that Dualscar’s dead.”

“Shouldn’t Eridan be doing that?” Then you remember Eridan’s condition. “So why talk to Horuss?”

“Horuss knows a lot about legal shit since he dealt with Darkleer’s debt.” Sollux takes off his glasses, wiping them with a cloth, “According to Horuss even if Dualscar had a will, it wouldn’t be legal unless he had a New Jack lawyer make it official. Most likely, he rented the trailer under a different name.”

“Why do that?”

“KK, come on. Orphaner Dualscar is a legend. It’d be like registering your name as Blackbeard. All the ancestors lived under assumed names; it’s just how they paid the bills.”

“So what was the name Dualscar used?”

Sollux smirks, “ _Orphus Ampora_.”

“Oh my god.” You groan. “Orphaner. Orphus. Were all the ancestor’s creatively bankrupt? Wait, was that his _real_ name?”

“No, just the legal one.”

“So what did ‘Orphus Ampora’ own?”

“Not much. Cronus says there’s an overdrawn bank account for sixty boon at Bank of Canz since the rent wasn’t paid this month because Eridan’s been staying here. There’s nothing else really in his name. Dualscar was probably paranoid enough to make sure most of his money was hidden, so that none of the ‘apes’ would get it when he died. I bet you my oversized canines that most of the stuff in that trailer belongs to Orphaner Dualscar and _not_ Orphus Ampora.”

“That sounds illegal.”

“It’s more of a grey zone.”

“Why?”

“Well, consider someone who lives in Raffil and then immigrates to Los Jaspers in the UTC. Typically when you leave Raffil, you want to change your name and identity for safety reasons when you immigrate but let’s say you had a family or property back home but that belongs to your old identity, so that property belongs to no one. At the time of his death, Dualscar made no new purchases under the alias of ‘Orphaner Dualscar’, mainly because he was old, sick, and shit poor.”

“So,” you say, “if Dualscar was healthy and purchasing things under the other alias he would have gotten in trouble for fraud.”

“Exactly. Orphus Ampora is dead. Orphaner Dualscar never existed.”

It’s odd to think of someone as a ghost but so was your grandfather. There was very little ceremony for his death. He had no will and sold most of his things before his death. All you have of your grandfather are your amulet and a lot of unpleasant secrets.  

What does Eridan have? A filthy mobilehive infested with bugs.

“So what happens to the mobilehive? What happens to Eridan?”

“The DD will do as he _always_ does when someone dies. Wait about seven days, then send his dogs.”

You remember the last time someone died in the neighborhood. You were four and the old hoarder lady at the end of your street died suddenly one hot summer day. The grass got taller, the mobilehive remained dark, and eventually the dogs came. They were large black carapaces, who came to collect overdue rent and forcibly evict people.

Everyone in the neighborhood crowded around as the dogs pulled out two apartment’s worth of junk on the lawn. The old woman’s body came out last, wrapped in a modest patterned comforter. Apparently a tower of junk toppled on her and she starved to death. After she was brought out, everyone dove on the stuff like locusts on corn. The dogs had brought money, knowing that there’d be haggling for the old woman’s things. That sale is where you got most of your furniture.

“Eridan’s gonna hate strangers taking his stuff like that,” you say, “or that speciesist bastard profiting off of it.”

“As Dualscar’s next of kin, Cronus and Eridan can take the stuff and do what they want.”

“So, Eridan can give it away?”

“We should just sell it. He could use the money. We could spruce up the place and invite everyone. They’ll probably bring food and we can catch up with them.”

“A tag sale _wake_.” You chuckle, “Only in Ninth Ward.”

“Only in the Ninth Ward.” Sollux concludes. 

* * *

You let Eridan rest Sunday and Monday, while you tell everyone about the garage-sale wake. You don’t venture out to the Ampora mobilehive until Tuesday. This time you’re prepared with garbage bags, rubber gloves, cleaning supplies, and a psionic. You arrive early in the morning in Latula’s hovercar, ready to take on the filth with your instructions. You spent years watching Cronus clean; now it’s time to show them what you’ve learned. This isn’t a test. This is the final exam.  

The first thing you tackle is the living room and it’s a pain in the ass to get Eridan to mop while you vacuum the couch.

“How in the shit do you _not_ _know_ how to fucking _mop?_ ” you say, bewildered. “You cleaned before, haven’t you?”

“Fucking barely. There’s cobwebs in here the size of my fucking head in this closet.” Sollux calls from the kitchen. “And I think this mold is _breathing_.”

“Grandpa never really mopped so I figured it wasn’t a big deal.” Eridan mutters, “Sometimes he’d say I should clean a bit…”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” You flick on the light to get a better idea of where all the dust is concentrated but it’s still dim. “Why’s the light so shitty?”

“Grandpa didn’t like really bright lights. It hurt his eyes so we kept things dark. It didn’t bother me after a while.”

“You’re not an _Alternia-born troll_ , Eridan!” You groan, frustrated with this level of stupidity, _“_ Your eyes are made for _New_ _Earth_ light. If you don’t get enough, your eyes get weaker! No wonder you need giant fucking glasses! This sort of environment is okay for Mom or Kankri but not _us._ ”

“I know that, Kar.” Eridan grumbles, “We’re practically human with how weak our species is now.”

“Oh yes; the _might_ of the ancient Alternian seadwelling nobility.” You vacuum the couch and arm chair, “Can’t even figure out how to fucking _mop a floor_.”

“I know how!”

“Then fucking _do it!_ ”

He does and he’s terrible at it. Eventually you have to show him how. You have to show Eridan a lot of things: how to wash windows, how to blow the dust out of fans and air conditioners, how to clean an oven inside and out, how to clean a fridge, and you make him rewash the dishes because ninety percent of them have some kind of dried gunk that turns your stomach.  

“Why do I have to wash the dishes?” Eridan grumbles, wrist deep in warm water and soap. “I thought we were using paper plates…”

“Yeah, but you never know who’ll want to buy them.” You spray the cupboard mold, “And you might be knocked up but that doesn’t mean you’re going to sit on your ass and _good gods_ , Eridan, how long has this mold been in here? I might as well be spraying this shit with water!”

“I dunno. I didn’t see it until Sol pointed it out.” Eridan grumbles.

The front door opens and Sollux enters the kitchen, putting a large paper bag on the lopsided table. “I’m back with the spare lightbulbs.”

You smile. “Good. Now we can get some light in the kitchen and living room.”

“Captors always have spare lightbulbs.” Sollux chuckles, “I used to blow them out when I had a cold.”

“Why are we just lighting up the living room and kitchen?” Eridan asks.

“Because that’s where people congregate, Eridan. Haven’t you _ever_ thrown a party?”  

“Grandpa wasn’t really fond of company…” Eridan mutters.

“Typical solitary old troll.” You take the lightbulbs and hand Sollux the anti-fungal spray. “Your turn with the mold monster.”

“You know, when I was a kid, I’d imagine I’d spend my junior year summer travelling the country and getting margaritas in New Mehico.”

“Why do that when you have Carlos Maracas?” you laugh.

“Fuck, I could go for tacos.” Eridan says, wiping sweat off his forehead.

“You get tacos when you rewash those dishes.”

Eridan flicks soapy water at you, “Treat me like Cinderwebla, you ass.”

You do send Sollux to Carlos Maracas. They have a summer special where you can get twelve tacos, three drinks, and three sides for 6.99.  

“Is the owner of Carlos Maracas a New Mehican purpleblood?” you ask, dousing your second taco with guacamole.

“No, it’s a New Mehican crocodile who’s pretty much obsessed with the purpleblood _look_.” Eridan says, now into his fourth taco, “She has a manor out near New Mehico City.”

“All damn day he watches the Travel channel.” Sollux sighs, “They might as well call it Food Channel Part 2. No Reservations, Bizarre Foods, The Layover…”

“I’m stuck in your trailer all damn day. I might as well watch something about being outside or in other locations.” Eridan insists.

“You just like to watch Bizarre Foods so you can pester me about buying shit or going places to your weight in oysters and hot dogs.” Sollux pokes Eridan’s waist. “Speaking of weight, you got like a hundred pounds to gain.”

“Yeah and I’m gaining them reasonably because I don’t want to be a giant fatass like Kar.” Eridan says.

“I am not a giant fatass!” you growl.

“That wiggle in your glute ain’t just your baggy pants.” Eridan yawns, reaching for a fifth taco.

Sollux stands. “Let’s not spend the whole day arguing. We still have a lot of cleaning to do. I told everyone to come over about one thirtyish.”

“One thirty?” You look at the clock, “That’s only like an hour from now!”

“We’ll be fine. Eridan, you should probably straighten up your room if you want to… uh…” 

Eridan doesn’t reply because he’s temporarily nodded off on the couch.

“…go to sleep.” Sollux sighs.

You try to get Eridan into his room but its cramped with the two of you try to wrestle him in. It’s narrower than your room with the recuperacoon and daybed wedged next to each other, the daybed resting in what would have been the closet. People living in Shongolian ‘cubicle apartments’ have more space.

You let Sollux drag Eridan into the next room—Dualscar’s room—which is larger than it should be. There’s an ancient daybed pushed into the corner, covered with cardboard boxes of clothes, scarves, and shoes. Looks like Eridan had been using this as closet space. You push off the boxes and Sollux lays Eridan down. The seatroll yawns, showing his grimy teeth.

Instead of working right away, you both go into Eridan’s room. You nudge the wall which wobbles. “This wall’s been moved.”

“Moved?” asks Sollux.

You nod. “I’d say about three feet in. It explains why this room is small.”

“Asshole.” Sollux scoffs, “It figures Dualscar would make his room bigger so he could enjoy more space.”

You sit on the hard daybed and a metal dodecagram star hanging on the wall; the Star of Alternia, the symbol of Alternian Traditionalists. There are also prayer beads with the symbol of the Maestro and next to it a weathered copy of _D’Aulaires’ Book of Alternian Myths._

“Like any of the ancestors knew what to do with a descendant.” you say, “Only the Dolorosa knew how to raise a troll and she _still_ didn’t do that good of a job.”

Sollux sighs, “At least Eridan will have money in his pocket. His stuff isn’t _all_ junk, at least by trailerpark standards.” 

You open the book, looking at the simple black text accompanied by colored pencil illustrations.

 

THE CREATION OF MUTANTBLOODS

_The Bewitched One took clay and crystal and molded it into the first trolls. The goddess was fond of the color green so she made the first trolls with lime-colored blood and she doted on her creations._

_The God of Blood and Haze planted seeds of flush-inspired jealousy into the mind of the God of Time’s Clockworks. And Time’s Clockworks, spread a great pestilence so one by one the limebloods died. The Bewitched One mourned the loss of her creations and Time’s Clockworks realized his mistake, but he could not bring them back as he was a god of death and not life._

_In apology, he took the lava of his realm and made it into snowflake obsidian and he carved it into a small idol. He then presented it to her._

_The Bewitched One held the statue and said solemnly. “If only my trolls had been as resistant as obsidian.”_

_The God of Blood and Haze happened to hear this and said, “If you create more, make sure they don’t rouse Death’s jealousy!” But the trickster god had given himself away._

_The Bewitched One broke the obsidian idol into twelve shards and gave them each life, but these trolls would each have a different blood color. And for the lime shard, the goddess tainted it an offensive shade of red._

_“Let one hemocaste bear the mark of your trickery for all eternity.” dictated the goddess. “And I will put enmity between those marked and the others, and between your descendants and their descendants, and your lusts shall be their lusts and your schemes shall be their schemes and it shall be their destruction as well as yours.”_

_And the Bewitched One sent the twelve trolls back onto the planet and the other eleven hemocastses multiplied and spread wide, while those of the twelfth and most despised hemocaste remained out in the wilderness with the beasts and demons of the forbidden wilds…_

 

Typical anti-mutantblood propaganda; you wonder what the ancient trolls had against mutantbloods. You keep flipping through the book but you’re starting to think most of these myths devolve to ‘Blood and Haze couldn’t keep it in his pants so this happened’.

You say to Sollux, “Why do you know so much about tag sales?”

“Mom did one before we moved from the burbs. I had to pick out which of my toys were the favorites so the rest could be sold. There was only so much room in the trailer.”

“…that had to be hard.”

“It’s in the past.” Sollux shrugs. “Right now I’m trying to take care of Eridan and… things.”

“What things?” The yellowblood’s flushes and you snicker, “Feferi?”

Sollux walks out of the room. “We got work to do.”

“You still flush her!” You put down the book and follow him.

“Shut up!” 

Eridan sleeps while you keep working. Twenty minutes later, he’s walking around, picking out what’s to be sold. He walks around the lawn, looking from table to table.

You place the last box from the closet on a table and open it. Inside are plastic dolls nearly balding with fake hair and dusty crocheted dresses.

“What in the shit is this?” you mutter.  

Eridan shrugs. “It’s a decoration; it covers extra toilet paper in your bathroom. You can buy the doll at the dollar store and you crochet the dress.”

“Where or when did you learn to crochet?”

“I crocheted my scarves so a tiny dress is just a bit more complicated.”

“It’s so… _weird_ … looking.”

Eridan stares at you. “It’s a plastic doll with a crochet dress, Kar, not some horroterror from the Ninth Island of Hell.”

You put it back in the box, “I hope Strider doesn’t buy one of these creepy things.”

“It’s not creepy and why is he coming?”

“He’s my matesprit is why.”

“Why did you quadrant with an ape? Can you even feel anything with that weird blunt bulge of his inside you; it can’t even move.”  

You smirk. “Trust me; that doesn’t matter once it’s in you.”

“ _Ew_.”

“Oh, like you have room to judge. You’re going into the fucking Blood and Haze priesthood. You realize what that entails right?”

Eridan rolls his eyes, “It’s not all about sacred prostitution. Priests of Blood and Haze also do relationship counseling, fertility rites, and take care of the sick and elderly’s needs.”

“Sexual needs…” you grumble.

“Stop it.” Eridan growls. “Have you ever considered that it’s not just about sticking your bulge in someone but about the intimacy and safety of being with someone who cares about you when no one else does?”

The words are more stinging than a slap. You see Latula’s car pulls up to the mobilehive. Behind him, hovercars honk; their engines sucking in debris.

You take a deep breath, “They’re here.”

“Yep.” Eridan sighs.

“Let the games begin.” Sollux says. 


	4. the wake

**== >Be Eridan at the wake**

Everyone is here, including Dave who is the lone human.

Aradia brings traditional East Beforan food; a Tupperware of something curly and cellophane-looking called mimiga that tastes crunchy and vaguely of peanut. She had this with a side of umibudo, which has roe texture and seaweed flavor. Equius brings curried mango in avocado. Feferi brings red velvet cake and Meenah fresh clams and hush puppies. Tavros brings two-mooncakes: a pile of green and pink dumplings filled with a sweet red paste.

You get more food than you’ve ever had in the trailer at one time. There are five varieties of potato salad, four varieties of chicken and fish to choose from. You see why Karkat was so keen on cleaning the kitchen, though a mystery arises once you lay out the spread.

“How in the hell did we end up with _nine different cakes?_ ” you say.

“Don’t look at me. I brought dumplings.” Tavros says, drinking a mint julep while smoking. “We had a surplus at home.”

“Are these the dumplings you’ve been forcing Gamzee to eat for the past week?” Nepeta asks.

Tavros shrugs, “Yeah, but Mom ate the most of them when he got the munchies last night; had to stash a batch in my room.”

“Make way!” Aranea pushes past you to add another cake to the collection. “Sorry I’m late.” She wags a finger at Tavros, “And _you_ shouldn’t be smoking around the food! Are you sure your food isn’t twenty percent ash?”

“Hey, I don’t smoke when I’m cooking.” Tavros grunts, “And I’ve been cutting back.”

“Like hell you motherfucking are!” Gamzee shouts from the living room.

Tavros rolls his eyes and shouts back, “You’re just mad because I burnt a whole in your shirt.”

_“Hell yeah I’m mad! That was my nice shirt!”_

_“You need to go fucking shopping because it already had like ten holes  in it!”_

Aradia enters the kitchen and starts pushing Tavros out, “You two are literally four feet apart. Just because you shout out your window at each other across the street doesn’t mean you have to do it inside the trailer.”

“He started it!” Tavros says.

“ _Go_.”

The brownblood walks off. You really hope Gamzee and him don’t end up ruining your couch. “If they ruin the couch, they buy it.” you conclude.  

“They already had to replace _my_ couch.” Aranea sniffs. “Only a matter of time before they ruin Rufioh’s couch the way you bunch carry on.”

“Oh like _you’re_ any better, teach.” Dave snickers, “You’re probably late cause you were busy getting ‘Karate chopping action’ from G.I. Troll.”

“And now I have _that_ image in my head.” Karkat grumbles.

“And knowing is half the battle.” Dave concludes.

“The other half is me throwing up.” you say, exiting the kitchen.

You walk past the crowd in the living room watching TUFC matches on TV and exit out the front door. It’s like walking into a sauna outside. Sollux is watching the tables, talking to Feferi.

The fuschiablood sees you and smiles, “Eridan! How are you doing?”

You shrug. “It’s my grandfather’s wake so I guess I’m as fine as I can be.”

Feferi frowns. “You look pale. Maybe you should sit down.”

“I’m fine, Fef. I’m just tired.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“He ate a bit earlier but he’s supposed to drink more fluids because of the rapid dehydration.”

“ _Sol_!” you growl.

Sollux smirks, “Hey, I’m just repeating what the doctor told me, Eridork.”

Immediately Feferi is on you, fussing and urging you to sit down. You end up drinking two glasses of salty tap water and sitting on the front steps.

“Eridan, you have to take better care of yourself.” Feferi sighs.

“I’m tougher than I look, Fef.” You sigh, “You’re the one in the delicate condition.”

“I’ve got good stamina and metabolism on my side though.” Feferi smiles, “I probably won’t be in the hospital that long; two weeks at the most with twins.”

“Twins.” you mutter, “So… it’s twins?”

“Yes. It’s a small miracle, isn’t it? Both our hemotypes are so slow to reproduce but here I am with twins.”

Your stomach gives an odd squirm and you can’t tell its unborn movement or nerves. “Do you know their hemotypes?”

Feferi smiles, “I’d rather keep it a surprise.”

You’ve asked the doctors not to tell you your grub’s hemotype. It’ll just make things harder.

A familiar hovercar pulls up the curb, sandwiching between the other cars. Cronus steps out and so does Kankri. You haven’t seen Kankri close up in years. The bags under his eyes are just as apparent but he’s smiling a little at least. The mutantblood goes to the back seat and helps Terezi out, smiling.

“Right this way.” he says.

“Kankri, I’m fine.” Terezi sighs.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to dote on you.” Kankri replies, still holding her hand. “Plus, the ground’s soggy; don’t want you tripping and falling.”

 _“I’m fine.”_ Terezi insists.

You stand as Cronus approaches you. “Weren’t sure if you were coming.”

“Yeah, well… I thought about it and I should see how everything is.” He holds up a box. “I brought pie.”

“Well at least it isn’t cake.” Kankri approaches you but once he’s within a foot of you, his movements stiffen and he becomes pale and sweaty. You raise an eyebrow, “Why are you wearing a skirt?”

Kankri smiles through his discomfort, “Because gender binaries are restrictive and a social construct.”

Terezi smirks. “Because he couldn’t find his pants and it’s too hot for them anyways.”

“A hundred degrees in the shade and I’d go naked if it meant staying cool.” Kankri chuckles.

“You better _not_.” Cronus adds, elbowing him with a playful smirk.

Time moves on it. The temperature dips around five and thunder rumbles low in the distance. A few people drive by and buy fishing nets and rods. Someone buys your crocheted dolls and suggests you keep up the work. You sit in a chair near the doorway, listening to the soothing rumble of thunder and conversation in the living room. Over the sound of the cheering TUFC audience they talk of the deceased.

“He loved his alcohol,” Latula says, “always telling us kids to stay out of his brandy and his wine back at the manor.”

“I’ll say.” Kankri mutters, looking forlornly at a sweaty bottle of whiskey. Terezi slaps his hand before he can reach out for it.

“You could pilfer some of it if you were sneaky enough,” adds Porrim, “For such a great seaman, his scarred eye was bad and the other one not so better either.”

“I hypothesize it was weak from seawater,” Horuss says, “Alternian waters were probably more caustic than our own, thus the need for protective eyewear.”

“He never swam in it. He was more about boating, being a privateer.” Cronus says.

“I thought he was a pirate?” asks Terezi.

“No, the legends always get it confused.” Aranea sighs, “He was loyal to the Empire and attacked enemy ships during wartime and organized foreign trade. Now _our_ Mother”—she gestures to Rufioh who is sitting between Gamzee and Tavros—“was a privateer-turned-pirate. She ran the slave trade and when she realized that being a pirate was more profitable, she became that. A _Gamblignant,_ as wasthe vernacular.”

Eventually, Kankri claims he needs fresh air and leaves the room to stand on the back porch. Terezi follows and after they leave, the whispering starts. 

“Cronus, you shouldn’t have brought him.” Latula scolds, “You know Kankri had… _problems_ with Dualscar.”

“Kankri’s list of emotional problems is hard to remember sometimes…” Horuss mutters, “Who or what doesn’t ‘trigger’ him?”

“I know, I know, but he insisted!” Cronus sighs, “He said he wanted to conquer his fears.”

“Kankri’s all for being brave but then he’s faced with his demons,” Aranea sighs, “and his resolve crumbles. You made sure he doesn’t have anything… _sharp_ right?”

“Yeah, I made sure, Aranea. I’m not _irresponsible_.” Cronus mutters.

“Why would he do that?” Rufioh asks, “Dualscar is _dead_.”

“We don’t even know why he tried to do it the _first_ _time_.” Horuss says. “What makes you think he won’t do it again? Like his father…”

“Don’t start that.” Cronus says, “You know Kankri doesn’t like being compared to him.”

Kurloz signs, <<LIKE FATHER LIKE SON. THEY BOTH HAD DEMONS.>>

Hot sharp pain goes through your stomach and it’s not nerves. You hurry past the adults and exit to the back porch. You don’t see Kankri or Terezi. You gag but nothing comes up. Shakily, you get out a ginger candy from your pocket and start chewing. You slump against the wobbly wooden railing, taking in a deep breath. The thunder is louder now.

“So how long have you been pregnant, Eridan?” Kanaya asks.

You nearly jump out of your skin. The jadeblood is standing in the corner. “How long have you been there?”

“Long enough.”

You look away, “Just because you get stomach pains doesn’t mean you’re pregnant. I get food poisoning a lot.”

“Chalk it up to jadeblood supernatural senses.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

“No, Eridan. Don’t be stupid.” You glare at her and Kanaya smiles, “You’ve been avoiding all the alcohol like a plague and eating ginger to combat nausea, like every other pregnant troll here. And you’re not keeping it but you don’t want to abort, thus why you’re so insistent on hiding it even though Sollux is making it obvious.”

“Making it obvious?”

“He keeps checking up on you, telling you to sit, telling you to eat, staying close to you... it’s a clinging instinct. Equius is doing the same to Aradia. Gamzee is doing it to Nepeta.”

“Not everyone’s doing it.” you mutter, “I’m not doing it to Fef.”

“It doesn’t happen immediately. Usually it doesn’t happen until late second or fourth month, when it becomes more physically obvious what’s going on. It works the same with the nesting instinct and other brooding behavior.”

“Nesting instinct?”

“You’ll find out eventually. Why are you so determined to keep it a secret, Eridan? We’ve known each other since we were born. It’s nigh-impossible to keep secrets around here.” Kanaya punctuates her statement with a sip of whiskey, “Only open ones.”

“Why are you bothering me? You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”

This comes as a bigger surprise. “You hated me throughout middle school. You snapped my wand in half.”

“Because you were being a douchebag, Eridan, and I was one hundred percent done with your shit. That and you called me the ‘neighborhoood bike when it comes to auspisticing’, which hurt my feelings and I was a very hormonal and sad little girl who cried that night.”

“You whacked me with your toy chainsaw too!”

Kanaya chuckles, “Oh yes, I forgot about that. That was a funny.”

“I had a bruise.”

“Not your first.”

She’s right about that. “So why don’t you hate me?”

“I think you deserve pity more than hate, Eridan. You never physically hurt me. How could you? You’re so fat and short and pathetic…”

“I am not fat.”

“Plump then. You also had no friends and no real social skills, so I realize that you were probably acting out of youthful stupidity and loneliness rather than actually trying to hurt me. I wasn’t the only person whose toes you’ve stepped on.”

“Y-yeah…” You’d rather not think about the _other_ person. Nothing terrible has happened yet and you owe the gods that favor. “So you pity me now? But I thought you were… um…”

Kanaya raises her eyebrow, “A strict eater of velvet carpet, as the boys at our school put it?”

“ _Well_ …”

Kanaya sighs, “You, and a lot of other people, seem to forget that I have a bulge which in many strict female-only homosexual circles counts as a penis, _the one thing_ that they have a strict aversion to.”

“So,” you say, “you’re not?”

“I choose not to identify with it.” Kanaya comments, “Pardon my xenocentrism, but the human concept of homosexual and heterosexual are far too restrictive for me to enjoy. Even bisexuality doesn’t seem applicable when the concept of gender isn’t a concern. I prefer to be myself and not give a flying fuck what others say.”

“Oh,” you say, “so how’s that going?”

“It goes.” she mutters, sipping more whiskey.  

“You know,” you awkwardly rub the back of your head, “I always liked your fashion and uh, I like crocheting and maybe we could. Make clothes. And stuff. Together.”

Oh gods; this could not be more stilted or awkward if you were made of wood and dancing on strings.

The jadeblood raises an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me?”

“Uh.” is your very intelligent response.

“Because you must realize this is your grandfather’s wake and you’re pregnant?”

“I just felt like… we both been through a lot, Kan, and that I always liked… your sense of fashion and your uh, opinions."

“Just because I don’t _hate_ you, doesn’t mean I _like_ you.”

“Yeah, but I always liked _you_ …”

“Really now?” she sighs, skeptically.

“Yeah. I had a plan to kill all the landdwellers but I’d say I wouldn’t kill _you,_ cause you had good fashion sense.”

She briefly considers this. “You also called me a snarky broad who fetishized human lesbianism with no personality, and you called my sister an ‘irredeemable bitch fucking whore with a side order of sarcastic cuntwagon’. You then proceeded to say how my fraudulent rainbowdrinker magic couldn’t come close to pose a threat to your mastery over white science, which isn’t real and doesn’t make any fucking sense. Secondly, you—”

 _“I get it.”_ you growl, “Y’know, I acknowledged that I was an asshole in middle school too and you were an asshole right back. There’s nothing saying we can’t restart.”

She smiles playfully, “Are you sure you’re flushing me and not pitching me? You seem so angry and determined about this. Your mutantblood muddled quadrants are showing.”

“Yes I am flush-flirting, you fickle dirt scraping landhag.” you growl.

She smirks, “Just like you’re a stupid stuck-up little fake-rich boy.”

You end up kissing, hard. She gives you two ‘rainbowdrinker' marks on your throat. Even as she walks away, face flush jade, you’re not sure if this is a soft pitch or a really intense flush. You go back inside to cover the mark. The last thing you want is for Sollux to start teasing you about it. 


	5. strange memories on this nervous night

**== >Be Karkat watching the last table**

At the end of the day, there’s only one table left with two jars of some tentacle thing with multiple eyes and an old jewelry box with the lock rusted shut and the violetblood old-hemotype symbol engraved on it. Sollux sits next to you, swatting mosquitoes and listening to the thunder.

You pick up one of the seahorror jars. “So this is all that’s left of Orphaner Dualscar.”

“That and this shitty trailer.” Sollux adds.

“Technically that belongs to the DD; same with the land.” You pop a semi-warm hushpuppy into your mouth, “And check it. We had this big wake-tag sale and not a person in the neighborhood knew Dualscar.”

“Well Dualscar didn’t get out much from what Eridan told me.”

“But you’d figure they’d see each other in passing, like at Walmart or at a restaurant or _something._ ”

“Dualscar was a ghost, Karkat. He never went to the dentist, so no dental record. He never had a physician, so no medical history. He barely drove so there’s only a few times he’s been inside a gas station. He didn’t even get a bank account until the manor shut down.”

“So he pretty much shut out the entire world…”

The thunder rumbles louder, carrying with it the threat of dark storm clouds. A limousine hovers down the street. You grimace, hoping this isn’t the dogs sniffing around. When it parks, a black coat gets out and opens the back door. A short, chubby seatroll woman steps out, wearing a fluffy fur coat and carrying a tiny lusus in her purse. Three more black coats get out of the limo and you recognize the bulge of weapons under their coats.

You stand and whisper to Sollux, “What’s going on?”

Sollux squints and tapping his glaasses, “I don’t know but they’ve got diplomatic license plates, so they’re foreigners. Their ID is scrambled so I don’t know from where.”

“Did Dualscar know them?”

The black coats maintain a five foot perimeter around the woman, checking all angles of danger. The woman approaches the table and a familiar scent hits you. Your face washes with warmth as a calm sensation floods your veins.

You swallow. “C-can I help you, miss?”

The woman looks at the jewelry box and picks it up. “How much?”

“T-twenty boon.” you mutter.

“Pretty cheap for this, kid.” the seatroll says.

“We don’t know what’s in it. The lock is rusted shut.” You stammer, feeling more flustered the longer you’re around her. “Um. So. Never seen you around before…”

“I ain’t gonna be here long.” She points to the jars, “What about those?”

“Erm, five each. Don’t know what condition they’re in though, but they’re authentic and from—”

“Alternia. Yeah, I know.” The seatroll pulls out her purse and hands you some crisp bills. “Here, kid.”

“Uh, thanks…” You take the bills, trembling a little. “Uh, you know… w-we have food too if you want some. No big deal to us…”

The food is probably gone by now though. You just want her to stay longer. Forever, if possible since her scent is so comforting. The seatroll shakes her head.

“Nah, kid,” she says, “got things to do and places to be.”

You walk around the table to get closer to her, but you’re still careful. The black coats are eying you behind their shades. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

“No fuckin’ way.”

The smell is even worse when you’re closer to her. It feels intoxicating. You want to get closer to her. You want to rub your face against hers and smell her hair. Behind you, you hear Kankri muttering about how he just wanted to look at the beer bottle and wasn’t going to open it. Cronus insisting that he get some fresh air. You glance at Kankri, who looks not at you but the woman.

“…Ma… Mama?” he stammers

That makes the woman immediately turn away and walk back to the limo at a hurried place. Kankri runs toward her but you see a black coat looking to pull out a weapon.

You grab the older troll’s arm, growling. “Kankri! What in the shit are you doing?”

 _“Mama!”_ Kankri yells. 

The woman doesn’t look at him. She climbs back into the limo and just as quickly as she arrived, she’s gone down the road and gone, most likely for good. Kankri stands there, completely silent. Slowly, his eyes fill with tears. You try to ask him what’s wrong but he pushes away from you. He walks back into the mobilehive, his eyes and fists squeezed shut. Cronus puts his arm around him and announces that it’s been fun but it’s about time they turn in. He leaves with Kankri and Terezi.

It’s almost dark now. The thunder is rumbling more and rain starts to slowly drip from the sky.

“You think he’s going to be okay?” Sollux asks as they leave.

“Kankri’s… pretty resilient.” but you’re not sure.

“It was too much.” Meenah concludes, smoking a blunt, “Too many bad memories and bad blood for him all at once. He got overwhelmed. He shouldn’t have come in the first place.”

“Why are you smoking?” you ask her.

Meenah smiles, “Its tradition; get high when the parents die. By the way, you better tell Eridan to clear some of us out unless some of you guys want extra siblings.”

“Like there isn’t already a surplus of pregnant people.”

You go back inside and the living room smells like a whorehouse, adult pheromones mixing with weed and alcohol. Everyone who isn’t in their thirties has scattered. You head to Eridan’s room but the room is empty. On the other side of the wall, you hear whimpering.

“…it was his idea...” There’s a frightened warble in Eridan’s voice, “If it was my choice, I wouldn’t have done it. I promise!”

“More like I was the easier scapegoat.” The voice is low and growling; Gamzee at his most threatening.

“Please d-don’t...” Eridan gasps, “…don’t hurt me…”

“Why should I hurt you?” A pleased rumble comes from the back of his throat, “You’re already motherfucking pathetic; a noble that became everyone’s bucket. My brothers already made a mess of you. Why should I bother?”

“…you… _you’re_ the reason they attacked me…?”

“What can I say?” There is a casual tone to the past violence, “My brothers ain’t gonna miss an opportunity to get their revenge on your hemocaste.”

“…w-what…” Eridan whispers, “…what about Kar? Does he… does he know?”

It’s when your name is mentioned you feel your adrenaline spike. You enter the room, pushing open the closed door. Eridan is sitting on Dualscar’s daybed, pale and eyes wide in terror. Gamzee is leaning over him, arm against the wall and intimidating as ever.

“Eridan,” you say, “we’re packing up.”

Gamzee stands up, looking at you. His new look lets you see his eyes more clearly but it doesn’t make you less uneasy. The purpleblood walks to the door while you make sure you’re just out of his grabbing range.

“See you next time, slut.” he whispers, before leaving the room.

You slam the door shut once he leaves. Eridan is still shaking. “Are you okay? Did he… _do_ anything to you?”

“How… h-how much did you… li-listen to?” Eridan stammers.

Now you’re wondering how long they were talking. Your head starts to throb. There’s something about this scenario that bothers you but you can’t figure out why. “Not a lot; I was more worried he was doing something to you.”

“N-no...” Eridan shakes his head, “Not with Tavros, Nepeta, or Kurloz here he wouldn’t...”

“Like he gives a shit.” you snort, “Quadrants never stopped Dualscar from assaulting Mom, and it never stopped the GHB from assaulting Grandpa either.”

Now Eridan is throwing you a questionable look, “What are you talking about?”

You remember that Eridan doesn’t know about the mountain of skeletons in the family closet. “There’s a lot we have to talk about later. I’ll tell Sollux to come in here and check on you at least.”

“I’m fine, Kar. Just sleepy.”

“The doctor said you need to do less. Just lay down and go to sleep. I’ll get you some water.”

Eridan flops down on the daybed and whines, “I don’t want to drink anymore water…”

“You’re supposed to drink less refined sugars and stay hydrated, dumb ass!”

“I drink all this water and then I have to piss like every fifteen minutes.”

You roll your eyes and leave the room, “You’re taking all those meds so you have to flush that junk out your liver and kidneys.”

Two hours later, in the pouring rain and darkness, the tag sale-wake breaks apart. People pile into cars, taking with them the heaviest furniture. Dualscar and Eridan’s recuperacoon are discarded. Porrim takes the kitchen table. Rufioh takes the couch. Kurloz claims Dualscar’s old armchair.

Sollux helps Eridan walk out of the trailer, carrying a cardboard box containing some of Eridan’s scarves, his crocheting tools, and books.

“I can walk fine, Sol,” Eridan grumbles.

“You still need help. You can still trip and rupture something.” Sollux says.

You peer in the box, “Is that all you’re keeping?”

“This’s all I want.” Eridan says “My clothes ain’t gonna fit in the coming months and they were shitty to begin with.”

Eridan walks to Latula’s car, glancing at dark and empty mobilehive. He nods to it. “I guess this is goodbye, grandpa. It was nice knowing you.”

The rain gets heavier, drowning out the sounds of cicadas. The thunder booms. You don’t have any goodbyes to say. You’ll probably never figure out who that woman was or why Kankri called her “Mama”. New Jack City is a city of trade; foreigners pop in and pop out never to be seen again. A fresh skeleton in the closet.

The only item you collected from the wake was a set of fancy pens with various ink cartridges. You leave the mobilehive with Strider, most likely never to return. 


End file.
